Gate: Operation Alastair

A Friend or Foe

Disclaimer I do not own any of the characters from gate nor any of its bs its just Erdia and the concept of the nations within it

17 of Esvallia, 1915
State of Esliledeo
Esliledia-Unknown

Down the dimly lit corridors of eternal darkness, two officers made their way through the shadowy hallways.

Their destination lay in a particular section, long abandoned save for its last occupants: Enemies of Esliledia.

The officer sought confirmation from the two guards stationed there. With a quick nod of affirmation, one of the guards received the officer's card and swiftly unlocked the entrance. They stepped inside, entering the musky dungeons once again.

The pair halted in front of a cell, exchanging a quick nod of acknowledgment. With purposeful movements, the officer unlocked the door and swung it open.

Entering the dimly lit cell, the officer addressed the inmate in Saderan, a language familiar towards the.prisoner. The prisoner turned to face them, his expression betraying a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

As the officer positioned himself guardedly in the corner, the man settled in front of the bars, his posture tense yet resigned.

The pallor of the Saderan's complexion spoke volumes, though any outward display of distress would be tightly suppressed, lest it escalate into a scandal of the highest magnitude.

"Would you mind introducing yourself, Mister?" asked the man, clearly his interrogator. The Saderan only shivered in fright.

His last memory was being hit by their magic and crashing alongside his wyvern, unmistakably dying.

Slowly returning to reality, he realized that since his capture, they had only brought him food. After that, there was nothing but silence, wailing, and of course, darkness.

The darkness was driving him to madness, yet he managed to focus on the man before him. Terrified to admit it, that smile looked so fake yet unnerving. With a quiet tone, he replied, "Tribune Rogelius."

"It's quite a pleasure to meet you, Tribune Rogelius. Allow me to introduce myself as Wilton," the man stated, his unsettling smile still in place as he glanced over the papers he held, somehow seeing through the darkness.

"Mister Tribune Rogelius, I won't waste much of your time. I'm almost certain you're well aware of what I offer," the man said, his gaze intense as he locked eyes with Rogelius.

He tossed five different papers toward Rogelius, each one a chilling reminder of Alnus Hill. He couldn't mistake them; the paintings were too accurate.

Rogelius looked at them, feeling a sense of dread creeping over him. The man's smile grew even more unsettling. "So, do you believe me?" he said, his tone dripping with menace.

Instantly, Rogelius replied with an affirmative, feeling as if he were bargaining with the devil himself.

The man turned toward the guard and gave a nod. "Tomorrow, I will be back. We hope you will be quite cooperative." With that, both Wilton and the guard left.

Rogelius pondered the irony: the empire was now being invaded by another empire. To add to the situation, he had been forced to relinquish everything—his pride, honor, and glory.

There was nothing left but the will to return home, to his family in Sadera. This was his only chance, and he wondered just how many of them truly survived.

Once again plunged into the oppressive darkness, Rogelius found solace in the rhythm of his own thoughts.

Counting silently in his head, each number a fleeting anchor in the endless abyss surrounding him. It was a feeble attempt to maintain sanity amidst the overwhelming despair of his situation.